


you alone

by schuyleryette



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chrisitne don't take no shit, Don't fucking judge me, Erik is a creeping flaming human disaster, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Mutual Pining, Relationship Confusion, Ryan is confused, Shane is a big dumb fuck, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, but so is Ryan, nobody asked for the boys to go up against the Opera's local sewer goblin, so much pining and crushing harder than twelve year old girls than is necessary, the crossover nobody asked for, they both are naturally, was supposed to be just a humorous piece but turned a 180 real fast, what the fuck is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schuyleryette/pseuds/schuyleryette
Summary: It's a story about a ghost, forever shunned for his hideous appearance. A talented young singer, entangled in his spell and the dashing hero that loves her, earning him and all his rival's jealous wrath. It's only unfortunate that two strangers, a believer and a skeptic, find themselves transported to the past and crossing the line of fire. A dangerous game has been set into motion. The question is: who will survive without being engulfed by the flames.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> My very first story that I’m contributing to the community that was meant to be a humorous oneshot, but ended up being a multichapter feels ride. Has elements of the book, the musical, and Susan Kay. Questions, comments, concerns? Ask is open! (So is AO3!)

_“Our lives are one big masked ball.”_  
**_Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera_ **

 

It all began with this…

The Palais Garnier was built many years ago within the heart of Paris. A grandiose, Beaux-Arts white stoned and marbled opera house located on the Boulevard de Capucines in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. It was created on the order of the imperial decree of Napoleon III to express the love for the opera, drama, and the arts back then, but now has been recently used to house the Paris Ballet. The Palais Garnier was and still considered one of the most opulent buildings in all of Paris, and one of the most famous and recognized opera houses in all the world. Its architectural excess became the glittering Parisian jewel of music where anyone could rise to fame and stardom with extravagant costumes, florid music, lavish balls, and the oversized egos of singers and wealthy opera patrons.

However, there have been strange stories and rumors that have circulated around the opera house for the past hundred or so years of a mysterious phenomenon. Some say that it is the spirit of a lost soul that perished during the days of the Paris Commune of 1871. Though perhaps, the most whispered and commonly accepted truth of what the mysterious entity could be that had been thought long forgotten and buried within the opera’s walls and cellars many centuries ago that gave the Palais Garnier its infamous reputation.

Locals claimed with bated breath that it was the return of the ghosts from the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. To some, a mere fanciful tale, but there were those who believed the legend of the terrifying Opera Ghost and the young soprano who captured his heart, was real. Whether a ghost or a flesh and blood man, it was a tale of warning and tragedy that told how a dangerous love and obsession nearly devoured everything and witnesses of the Palais Garnier in flames. It was a great tale, one that had been repeated so many times that it had become the stuff of legends and myths. There was only one failing of the story that had been told over and over, whispered among children and adults alike: no one knew how the tale truly ended.

Employees, patrons, and visitors all alike claimed that whatever haunted the halls of the opera house was there to stay, and it grew more agitated as it’s final resting place kept being disturbed. Pranks that would upset and ruin one of the ballet performances would occur, accidents befell on anyone who dared ventured down below underground, even disappearances would happen for reasons unknown. It scared anyone away and caused those who stay to tread with caution.

 Whatever the case may be, the Palais Garnier and whatever resided would find it’s newest victims to be quite interesting.


	2. Un

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys are in Paris, but all is not well in paradise.

_“The Opera Ghost really existed.”_

**_Gaston Leroux,The Phantom of the Opera_ **

**__ **

 On the other side of the cab’s window, a gray sky looms above thickly woven streets and maze-like white gray buildings. The clouds heave like living, breathing creatures, and raindrops smack the glass. Not the ideal Saturday morning to be driving along the Parisian streets while on vacation, according to Shane Madej.

“It was supposed to be fun!” Ryan exclaims, jumping slightly as they ran over a bump.

 Shane looks at the passing buildings through the car window, snorting. “You know I feel like you’re just fucking with me every time you say that,” he smirks. “Out of all the places in Paris that we could visit, you choose an opera house?”

“The Palais Garnier has one of the strangest histories among any of the famous opera houses in the world. A worker was found hanging from the fucking stage! That doesn’t pique any interest whatsoever?” Ryan inquires.

“Nope,” Shane shrugs and looks at his phone. “So, the guy was a klutz and didn’t watch where he was going and snapped his neck while he spiraled down below. Doesn’t mean his ghost is singing opera.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, muttering a curse. He and Shane both bounce again as the tires dip into a deep puddle while turning onto another road of cobblestones and asphalt. Mud splashes across the window. He stares at the privacy screen separating them from the cab driver at the steering wheel, watching the wipers slash through the brown muck on the windshield with a muffled screech as they clear a line of vision.

“Well, I did try to get us tickets to explore the catacombs, but they were already booked.” Ryan wheeze with a smirk. Unfortunately, it does not have the desired effect on the skeptic as the believer would have wanted. Shane only makes a small noise to signal he heard the lame joke without looking away from the phone screen.

Ryan sighs, trying to ignore the disappointment that fills his gut. Shifting slightly in response to the awkward silence, he grips the door panel to brace himself against another dip in the road as he continues to look out the front window. In truth, he didn’t know exactly why he chose the Garnier of all attractions in Paris for him and Shane to explore. There were plenty of places in France that were allegedly haunted that could be worth to investigate for Unsolved instead of an opera house. It would’ve been more fitting to see the Catacombs and it’s macabre dark passageways align with skulls and skeletons in its walls and explored what lurked within the Empire of the Dead that would whisk away innocent passerby to never be seen again. That is, it would’ve been the ideal location had tickets not been sold out as they arrived yesterday morning. There was also the renowned Père Lachaise, the home of at least 30,000 tombs and the final resting place of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chopin, and Moliere and more. Or perhaps the Jardin des Tuileries to see if the infamous Red Man of the Tuileries, a man murdered by the decree of Catherine de Medici for knowing too much about the affairs of the crown, truly existed. Then again, Ryan supposed, it didn’t have to be just in Paris. Just three hours was the Château de Brissac nestled within the Loire Valley where the fairy tale like castle hid behind adultery and double murder that occurred sometime in the fifteenth century within the walls of the castle had resulted in its most popular ghostly resident, la Dame Verte. Or just go up north to Normandy to see Mont Saint-Michel and learn about it’s gorier days in its history when a battle of the Hundred Years’ War took place on the surrounding beaches. Captain Louis d’Estouteville led his men to the slaughter of more than 2,000 Englishmen. Before the water returned, the sand was stained red with their blood as far as the eye could see. Their spirits, those of numerous monks who lived and died here, and even that of d’Estouteville himself are believed to haunt the island.

Shane would’ve liked that, but if Ryan were honest, Shane would’ve liked all the listed locations if it meant seeing the believer lose his nerve and freak out over every little sound with his EVP recorder and spirit box.

Anything that would mean bringing his best friend back to his skeptical devil-may-care asshole self would be enough.

He wants to say that it was a long time coming, but that isn’t exactly true. Sometimes, there were friendships that don’t ever last or work out the way as one would expect, but Ryan had always thought that what he and Shane had was special. They had Unsolved, their late nights watching movies, and their weekly going out to the bar after work. The two were inseparable with an astounding chemistry. They were special because they knew how each other worked inside and out, and that they cared about one another, and that would never stop. Or so Ryan had thought. And yes, he knew how cliché it was on his part to think like that. To think that their friendship was somehow different from all the others. That he and Shane had somehow shared a deeper connection than most friends do. And to him, it meant something. Meant everything. He wants so badly to hold onto this feeling, to Shane, to the idea of them together and that they were okay.

It wasn’t as if they were arguing, really. They did argue, but it was always this friendly banter where both would feign annoyance with each other as they poked holes through different arguments. That was how their relationship worked. That was what made them, well, them. This, however, was radio silence. And that was the problem. Something had shifted that had revealed some faults.

As much as he hated to admit it, but they were drifting apart. Ryan had reasoned that Shane had a lot on his mind whether it was returning to the states and going back to work, or he wasn’t still over his breakup with Sara or just _something_. But it didn’t explain how Shane would stop speaking to Ryan if there was something bothering him. Usually, though, Ryan would notice. The believer would ask what was wrong, in the least confrontational way possible, and the skeptic would tell him. And then they would come up with a solution, makeup, and move on. That wasn’t happening now though. Ryan tried to reach out to Shane, tried to convince him to tell him what was on his mind. But Shane would brush it off as nothing, and then Ryan would feel better. He would be reassured for a moment, but then Shane would only become more distant. Even debating had lost its luster. Shane was a lot quieter. He’d still offer his opinion for a new case and his theories, it was just how he was, but when Ryan would counter with a theory of his own- which was most of the time- Shane would just sit back and listen instead of engaging.

Ryan remembered the last good day. It had been the last couple of days they were staying in London. They had finished filming that ridiculous but fun shopping montage that Ryan was sure their fans would get a kick out of earlier that morning, and had spent the day exploring the city, filmed the last of the Jack the Ripper episode in Whitechapel, and then ending it by going out to the pub to have drinks with the crew, several workers, and the friends they had made from Buzzfeed’s London Branch. There had been laughs, going over footage, sharing stories, and plenty of drinking that resulted in the two friends departing and going off on their own just wandering around in the streets aimlessly together. They wanted to enjoy their last night in London before they had to take off to Colchester. Shane would start singing off key, thus setting Ryan into a giggling fit, or the two would begin dancing to the beat of a band they would hear outside playing; or Ryan, who had been the most inebriated that night, would be hanging off from Shane’s arm to steady himself and spouting out the most outrageous comments and conspiracies. The two men watched as clouds rolled across the night sky and then starting to rain. They’d run and dance around until they were drenched, and then they had finally hailed for an Uber to make their way back to their hotel, laughing as they hung off each other waiting under shop awnings. And Ryan remembered how happy Shane was, catching his breath and how his smile widens and his hazel eyes sparkled a lighter shade. He might’ve said something, but the rest of the night Ryan really couldn’t remember. But that had been then, and he didn’t know what could’ve had happened from then to now to change everything.

Sometimes, Ryan pondered if it was something that he had done wrong. He remembered lying on his bed in their shared cabin on the ferry sailing to France, staring at the ceiling, not allowing sleep to succumb as he counted the ways of what he could’ve done to piss off his friend. The younger man knew that he wasn’t exactly perfect. He knew that the way he was stubborn, argumentative, and opinionated to any subject matter or situation could drive Shane crazy. Then, there were other times that Ryan blamed Shane because he was the one not opening up, so they could fix whatever was the problem or comfort him instead of causing Ryan to want to pull his hair out in aggravation. These moods and internal battles would end almost as quickly as they had begun, and then Ryan would regain his composure and pick up the broken pieces within himself and hide them away, so Shane wouldn’t notice.

Most often though, Ryan just ignored it. He would push away the silence and the distant expression and go on as though nothing was wrong. It was hard, but he justified it with the thought that Shane would do the same for him if their roles were reversed.

However, as time wore on and the unspoken rift grew deafening, Ryan found this more and more doubtful until this reasoning dissolved like a newspaper left out in the rain.

Something was definitely wrong.

And Ryan Bergara was ready to call bullshit and get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Hey Bergara, you in there?” Shane’s voice shakes Ryan from his morose reverie.

The hint of interest and concern jolts Ryan into awareness, and shoulders loosen, but he kept the shield around his heavy heart. And that is another thing he had noticed. Ryan had never felt the need to keep barriers up around Shane. Because his Shane could be so sarcastic, witty, and hilarious, who could get Ryan to laugh until he was in a fit of wheezing, who was there for him with pizza, popcorn, and beer to cheer him up after his breakup with Helen, and who always managed to make him smile and feel like he could be anything and more. Not this… strange and distant imposter or pod person that looked and sound like Shane Madej.

“Uh, yeah, I’m good. Everything’s fine,” Ryan replies with a shrug. “Just to get there, that’s all.”

Shane makes a noncommittal hum in the back of his throat as a response. Ryan assumes that would’ve signaled another round of uncomfortable silence in the back of the cab until he was surprised when the taller spoke once more.

“You know what I don’t get?” the skeptic asks, actually turning to face the believer. “Is you choosing a place that isn’t haunted and has no inkling of True Crime. It’s going to get canned, Ry.”

And there it was. The judgmental asshole side that thinks he’s being an idiot. Ryan casts an unamused side eye glance at his companion before returning his gaze to look through the windshield. _‘Two can play the same game, Bigfoot.’_

“Give me a fucking break, alright?” he huffs. He knows that Shane had a point, but he refused to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I may not even consider putting it any lineup. I’m just going out on a limb here and want to give this place a try before we film. Besides, there has been reported evidence of the ghost of a woman who jumped off from the roof after her husband left her and…” Ryan pauses for a brief moment before wincing over what he was about to say next. “Orbs.”

“Oh, my fucking god, will you stop with your perverted obsession with orbs, man. It’s not compelling.” Shane laughs, but it wasn’t his usual good-natured and hearty laugh. This felt sharp, deprecating, and mocking that Ryan couldn’t help but wince at though the sound of it pierced his heart. If Shane had noticed then he made no notion that he did as he recovers.

“You know you didn’t have to come with me,” Ryan muttered, half irritated and half embarrassed.

“Oh, yes I did. I would prefer that I didn’t bring you back to Los Angeles in a body bag because you got yourself killed in this new scheme of yours for Unsolved.” Shane explained, chuckling. “Besides, it’s fun watching you get all scared and squirm, making a fool of yourself scared over nothing.” Shane makes a swooshing noise that was meant to imitate wind, slapping his hand on each side of his face as though he were on Home Alone, and feigns a horrified expression. Ryan watches with an irksome expression written across his face. Normally, he would’ve laughed at this parody of himself, but he found himself to not be the laughing sort at the moment.

“You’re insufferable,” Ryan snarks.

“You love me anyway,” Shane smirks. “Besides, we both know what this is really about.”

“And that would be?”

“We’re only going to the opera house and chase after the Phantom of the Opera. You can be an idiot sometimes, but I expected better of you than to actually think a fictional character was real. I think you’re going to be sorely disappointed that we’re not about to step into a musical.”

Okay, so he didn’t give away his true intentions, but it was close enough. Which brought Ryan back to wonder why he really chose the Palais Garnier to investigate. A woman who flung herself from the roof didn’t seem enough to be considered for an investigation. He wasn’t even interested in the poor woman at all. What really piqued Ryan’s interest in the place when he read through its website was the reason why it was now famous: The Phantom of the Opera. He had seen the musical when Helen had dragged him to see it when they were visiting New York. Back then, he didn’t think much of it, but his fascination and research began after he had taken a walk to get away from his hotel, and found himself in the middle of Haymarket, standing in front of Her Majesty’s Theatre where the play had been produced for thirty-one years since. That was when it hit Ryan. This could be his chance to repair the friendship and doing it in a way that both he and Shane loved doing: diving into the legend if the Phantom truly existed. Well, more like Ryan diving into the legend and theories and Shane giving his never-ending snark and opinions.

Hence why Ryan sent the crew home, stating it would be an independent project. Shane gave no heed if he was interested or the change of plans, but this gave Ryan the chance to refresh his mind of the story, research, and plan. He read through different “phan” forums on the matter, from Gaston Leroux, the multiple resources on the Garnier’s history and its current usage, metas, and different sources on the Phantom and the possibility of his existence. It was the whole reason that the smaller had purchased a copy of Leroux’s novel at a bookstore before they left in the first place.  Although his reading the book so many times since had more to do with the story itself—a mysterious composer using his unnatural gift of music to help a girl to become a world-class singer, only for it to end in disaster when he became obsessed with her.

What first began as a plan to bring back the old Shane, however, started to shift into something peculiar and a little more than a mere fascination.

It wasn’t as if he thought the stories about the ghost were true. Not really. But it wasn’t until he found the countless police reports and news about the disappearances of Parisians and tourists that had been occurring for over the past decade that he began to consider the possibility. At first, the disappearances weren’t a concern. Paris was a big city, and it was thought that they would eventually reappear; however, the pattern continued to grow and became concerning: a person could be walking the Rue Scribe at night, or visit the opera house, and they would vanish without a trace like stars disappearing from the night sky. Locals and Garnier employees began to swear that it was the return of the Phantom, resurrected from the dead and taking victims down into his underground kingdom. That he would only abduct those who would dare to disrespect his home. After all, ghosts, by definition, were creatures beyond the scope of living that did not need to play by mankind’s rules, a certain sense of awed fright went along with the title.

The last disappearance to occur was that of a firefighter, who had remained behind to swim in the underground lake for training purposes. When a worker came down below to check up on him, the firefighter was nowhere to be found. Since then, employees were to watch out for one another closely and to inspect that the patrons and tourists didn’t cause a disturbance that could anger the ghost. It appeared that the myth was becoming a reality, and every book, report, post, resources, and any little piece of information that Ryan could find entrapped him in its siren’s song.

He was beginning to believe that the Opera Ghost was real, and since nearly all myths and legends are rooted in actual history, Ryan had made his and Shane’s mission find out the truth about this phantom.

“You saw the discussion,” Ryan says. “The Garnier was commissioned by Emperor Napoleon III, but construction wasn’t completed until 1875 after the end of the Commune. The Phantom legend began after that but didn’t gain full attention until the events in 1896 when during a performance of Don Juan, the chandelier fell into the audience and at least killed one person. The leading soprano who was performing that night was never seen again.” Ryan scrolls through his recent searches on his phone then holds up the screen so Shane could see the text alongside a promotional still of the 2004 feature film with Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum in full costume. “Any other credential evidence about the Garnier and the ghost in 1896 could’ve been found at the Paris Conservatoire has been lost. So, you’re right. We’re not stepping into a musical. It’s a horror story. With a side of obsession and mystery.”

They hit two bumps in a row this time, nearly slamming their heads on the cab’s cushioned ceiling. An irritated puff of air escapes Shane’s lips, though Ryan was pretty sure it was directed at him and his ability to reach. “I told you those forums are nothing more than overly obsessive fangirls that cry over the book and musical and write self-insert fanfiction. I’m even going further to say that I believe the possibility of the lizard people is more likely than this!”

“They found a skeleton in the deepest basement, floating in the water. A skeleton, Shane. Do I really need to give you another reason for the creep factor of this place?”

“That could’ve been a victim of the Paris Commune instead of this so-called Phantom’s corpse.” Shane challenges. “Don’t look so surprised by that, I did my research on this place too.”

Ryan is momentarily stunned, but he’s certain that he’s making a face at his taller companion that he is impressed. “So, you really did look at those links I showed you and actually did your homework. I actually feel flattered.”

“What can I say? I like to surprise people, and it’s not that big of a deal,” Shane huffs, but this time there is no sign of any of the irritation from before, and did Ryan actually see a hint of a smile? “Look Ry, I’m just having trouble understanding why we’re seriously wasting our time on this. There’s no such thing as the Phantom of the Opera.”

“I need you to trust me on this, okay big guy?” Ryan asks. “I just have this feeling that this is where I’m going to prove you wrong. This is going to be the best case yet.”

Shane shakes his head, steadfast in his denial, but Ryan doesn’t mind for once. He leans his head against the window and looks at his view, smiling. And he’s so certain that it’s a genuine smile that he’s had in days because, for the first time, he has hope. This case that was part ghost story and part mystery is just what they needed. They get inside their element, Shane will open, and everything will go back to the way it was before. It was going to be okay.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely have no excuse for why the actual first chapter took so long to be now live other than work, rewrite after rewrite, and crippling anxiety and procrastination. I'm going to attempt to get better at this and produce new chapters as often as I am able to!
> 
> QUICK NOTES:  
> _The worker who was found hanging from the rafters is fictional and is an actual scene from the novel that will be mentioned again in the story.  
> _Each listed alleged haunt that Ryan lists off are all real and can be toured.  
> _The disappearances around the Rue Scribe is completely fictional, created for the purposes of this story.  
> _Though the Phantom of the Opera doesn't exist, the underground lake does exist with fish swimming around and is used by the fire department to swim and dive for training purposes. The incident of the chandelier in 1896 did actually happen. One of the counterweights of the chandelier that weighed less than ten kilos fell on the audience, but only killed one person.  
> _Leroux states that after the events of his novel, a skeleton was found underground, but it is more likely it was a victim from the Paris Commune. The Commune was a revolutionary utopian government that seized Paris for two months in 1871. The novel states that the Commune used the Opera House for everything from housing its dungeon in the basement to launching balloons from the roof. It is true that while under construction, the Opera House served as a shelter and storehouse for food and ammunition during the Prussian siege of Paris, which ended two months before the reign of the Commune. Weirder still are the corpses that kept turning up at new urban development sites around the time that Leroux was writing The Phantom of the Opera.  
> _Though the Palais Garnier isn't necessarily haunted, the story of the jilted woman who threw herself off the roof and now haunts the streets is a true ghost story from what I could gather.


	3. Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys arrive at the Palais Garnier, but one has the tendency to stray like entering a wardrobe.

_“_ _The Siren will see you are heard of no more.” ―_ **_E.A. Bucchianeri_ **

The photos didn’t do the majestic behemoth justice.

Ryan and Shane pause before the portal to Le Palais Garnier, the Paris Opera House. Ryan couldn’t see the statue of Apollo’s Lyre from where they were standing. It’s edifice rising above and peering down with its face pock by sulfuric acid, the very top invisible. To see it, they would likely have to cross the street to the metro station. Ryan lets his breath escape his throat as he takes in the architectural masterpiece before him. In the majority of his twenty-seven years, he couldn’t remember any place that had captivated him with such a powerful and alluring appeal. He felt lost in its wonder, but also sensed a strange shiver running down his spine that ends in the pit of his stomach. Is it possible for buildings to have eyes? The believer knew it was rather an absurd notion, and yet it almost seemed feasible as it stares back at him, searching his very soul if it was worthy enough to enter its domain. The March sun that allows itself to peak through the dying rain and clouds illuminates the columns, arches, busts, and friezes, shone on marble, bronze, stone, and wood. Along the very top of the building is a row of masks, their grotesque faces contort in black o’s for mouths and eyes gazing down upon the Place de l’Opera and its spectators. Their oddly abstract faces didn’t coordinate with the style of the illustrative representations covering the frontage, as though two artists fought and wrangled over whose style should reign supreme.

 Shane whistles, breaking the spell over his friend. “Garnier really wanted this place to be lit with all the bronze ornate and over the top grand style.”

 “Napoleon III was determined for his capital to have the largest and most splendid theater in the world,” Ryan explains, shaking off the remnants to bring himself back to reality. “It remains a monument when the emperor transformed Paris into the modern city of today.”

 “I’m not saying that it isn’t beautiful or not giving kudos to the guy," Shane shrugs. "but I’ve seen houses decorated with the gaudiest Christmas lights and ornaments that were in better taste.” 

 _‘That’s one way to upset a Phantom by pissing all over his home.’_ Ryan rolls his eyes. “You know rumor has it that one of the architects that helped build the theater asked Garnier to live underneath the structure once it was completed… and he was never seen or heard from again.”

“Oh great! So, the weird homeless guy becomes the residential sewer goblin is your basis that the Phantom of the Opera was real,” Shane snickers. “Do you think he had any help from talking rats and man-eating crabs?”

“Wh-what the- I don’t- I don’t think he was some Disney princess living in the cellars- Where does your mind go to when you get to these conclusions-”

“The crabs are a stretch, but rats live in cold, dark, and murky passageways, and Skeletor is the same way, so why wouldn’t they hang out?” Shane contorts his face into a wicked and leering smile, rubbing my hands together. “Come comrades! We must prepare my costume that will dazzle the scene for the masquerade tonight, and then I can be part of their world!!”

Ryan bites his lip to keep his smile and laugh from spilling out at the scene. “I don’t think that ever happened.”

“Well, that makes me all the more excited.”

“You don’t really sound all that excited.”

“Oh really?” Shane exclaims with a flair of faux surprise. “I wonder why! You have certainly outdumbed yourself this time, Bergara."

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan quips. “Besides, I think you’ll fit right in.”

“And why is that?”

“Because maybe you’ll meet the Phantom, and you guys can talk about why you’re both so tall and have freakishly huge heads,” Ryan smirks. “Maybe his fans will mistake you for him!”

“Very funny,” Shane murmurs, but Ryan can see the smile he’s trying to hide.

Grinning, the smaller turns his head to see a group of tourists gathering together. “I guess this is where the tour starts. We better go join up before they leave.”

“I’m quivering in anticipation.”

Ryan chooses to ignore the dry remark and instead signals with his head towards the large tour group preparing to go inside the opera house. The two men stay in the back of the party, climbing the front stairs leading to the grand entrance, drinking in the sight of everything around them. Their tour guide waits at the top of the landing as they all slowly make their way to the top and huddling to enter. Once she had introduced herself and gives everyone a brief set of rules and a warning to not stray from the tour, she turns gracefully with a smile, motioning for everyone to follow as she opens the doors to the opera house, stepping inside.

Ryan follows Shane through the doorway and is in awe when he gazes at what had to be the most beautiful foyer he had ever seen. The middle grand staircase rises up and divides, each stair going up to different sides of the theatre. It is ornate, made of fine marble that shines in the light, gleaming incandescently among the light and bronze interior. The floor, marble as well, gleams underneath Ryan’s feet and he is afraid that he’ll leave a mark if he moves one step. He stares in amazement at the beautiful interior. Great white columns, decorated with scenes from Greek mythology lined either side of the foyer and banisters. It’s nothing like he has ever seen before.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane whispers, equally floored. “This is a fucking palace.”

For once, Ryan couldn’t find his voice to speak, so he mutely nods his head. In front of him, the younger man could see two teenage girls, both wearing graphic t-shirts with the infamous white mask logo. Ryan watches as the shorter of the two bounces on the balls of her heels snapping photos while the taller one with red hair, holding to her chest what looks to be an envelope, begin softly singing, _“The Phantom of the Opera is there… inside my mind…”_

“Told you there was going to be phans here,” Ryan jumps at the feel of Shane’s beard and breath on his ear as he whispers. He glares up at his friend who just gives him the most aggravating smile before the taller nudges him to look over his shoulder. Behind him, Ryan sees a security guard glowering at the two fangirls who were conspiring on how to get away from the group and find the Phantom’s lair. There were more security guards, guides, and staff walking about to ensure their visitors were enjoying themselves as well as sniff out those who could possibly cause trouble and vanish.

This could be a bit of a problem.

“Have fun sneaking around-“

“You’re enjoying this way too much-“ Ryan retorts, but quickly shuts up when he hears a loud cough and sees the tour guide scowling at them and the girls. When all appeared settled, she smiles again and continues her tour, capturing her intended audience’s attention.

Ryan listens with interest as the guide takes them through the opera house, motioning towards different areas and points of interests, absorbing every detail; however, his attention starts to wan as they pass the restaurant, the auditorium and stage, the different props used backstage for ballet performances, dormitories once used by the dancers, and dressing rooms. His fingers start to fidget impatiently, eager to dive into the mystery of the Phantom and explore on his own. It’s only when they are climbing the steps and perusing the hallways to a door that Ryan’s interest becomes suddenly strong again. He looks at the ominous number, his heart expanding and tightening out of his chest, taking his breath along with it.

"Isn't that -"

The tour guide immediately interrupts one of the tourists, nodding her head. She opens the door, presenting the view of the grand auditorium from the small balcony and a delicately carved reclining chair, explaining to all the others that this is indeed the legendary opera box, Box Five. Ryan listens with half an ear, all of his reading of the book and research coming back in full force. The millions of glittering glass crystals shards from the chandelier shone brightly as it illuminates the auditorium, beckoning the younger man to come forward with the softest of whispers, _“This is where the legend began.”_

Ryan could see the tour guide shutting the door, and his hearts plummets. _‘Not yet,’_ it beckons. _‘Not yet, I’m not finished. I’m not ready to go.’_ Ryan barely hears the young woman as he stays rooted to the spot in front of the forbidden door. It is as though all sound and time itself have stopped around him, enclosing him in this one silent moment. The group makes their way back downstairs to the foyer of the theater, not realizing the tour was now lacking a member and the guide’s voice fades into the distance, leaving him farther and farther behind.

Ryan knows that he should try to catch back up with the group, that he should not be here gazing longingly at this door, but his curiosity overtakes him. All rational thought abandons him for a more willing and more tempting vessel, and when he could finally take no more, he glances side to side, and finding no one, cautiously puts his hand on the tarnished doorknob and turns it slowly.

Surprisingly, the door is left unlocked. Slowly, he gives it way with a soft creak, pushing open the barrier enough to allow him inside and step forward into the compartment, closing the door behind him. A rush of warm red and gold tones from the auditorium washes over Ryan as he pauses to survey his surroundings. Everything inside the little compartment is furnished in a lush red velvet from the cherry wooden chair to the curtain and drapes. Ryan creeps behind the chair with the idea to sit on it but hesitates. He is already trespassing the ghost’s box. It’s best not to press his luck. Instead, the believer moves closer towards the front of the balcony but remains hidden behind the curtain in case if anyone down below saw him. Casting his eyes towards the stage, he watches other tours transpiring and dancers rehearsing for the night’s performance. So this is what it feels like to be a ghost. It feels like being a god almost as he looks on from his post, watching as daily routines carry one. Ryan ponders about how the ghost could’ve run and controlled the inner workings of the theater to his liking just by sitting atop in his little box in the shadows, and he would know if he had been crossed. It felt… omnisciently powerful. What would happen if he projected his voice out into the auditorium, barking he was displeased with how his theater was being run? Would the security catch up to realize it was actually a tourist fooling around? Or would they truly think that their Phantom had returned? Speaking of which, how did this ghost even get up here? Did the guy just creep inside while no one was around or was there some secret passage he entered through? Ryan looks up at one of the pillars. It seemed like a reasonable option to sneak in a secret door. Grinning wickedly, he leans against the marble column and taps his knuckles carefully against it. Sure enough, the marble is solid.

 _‘Sneaking around it is then,’_ Ryan finalizes with some satisfaction when an ugly feeling crashes down all over him. Sneaking around… hiding from people… _‘Oh fuck. Oh, fucking Christ! Holy fucking shit what did I just do?!’_

The high is over and logic is settling back in, and it is just then that Ryan Steven Bergara knew he fucked up. Panicking, Ryan turns to leave. He needed to get out of here and get back to the tour. Maybe no one noticed he was gone. Actually, yes someone would’ve noticed, and Ryan is certain that said person wouldn’t let him hear the end of it-

“Fuck!” Ryan hisses and staggers back slightly after running into something that feels like a body. Looking up, he a sees a very unhappy Shane Madej, arms crossed and against the door.

“Hey, buddy!” Shane smiles brightly, but the believer could detect the hint of murder laced in the skeptic’s voice.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit of me!” Ryan exclaims. “What are doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Shane scoffs. “Last time I checked this box was off limits, and when I turned around after we left, you can my imagine my surprise when you were nowhere to be found!”

“I know this looks bad-”

“This looks bad?! Ryan what the hell-”

“I’m actually surprised you noticed I was even gone,” Ryan bitterly whispers, stopping Shane in his tracks.

“What’s that supposed to mean-”

“Forget it. Let’s just get out of here,” Ryan shakes his head, having no desire to explain himself. He attempts to walk past the taller and usher them to leave when Shane surprises the smaller by continuing further into the box. “Shane-”

“What? You can’t have the fun all to yourself,” Shane shrugs, inspecting his surroundings. “I just want to see what’s so special about this box that would make you want to trespass. So far just an ordinary box.”

“I’m sure we can talk about this somewhere that’s a little more in public and not breaking tour rules,” Ryan laughs nervously. His original mission seemed sad now, a pathetic excuse to do something to get Shane to fess up instead of lying in bed moping. “But we should probably go now.”

“Dude, won’t you relax? You’re the one that wanted to be here,” Shane chuckles, sitting in the phantom's seat, and Ryan is almost certain that he’s beginning to have a panic attack.

“I swear to god Shane if we don’t-”

“If we don’t _what_? Is the phantom going to come right out of the curtain and kill us? Do your worse, Phantom!” Shane calls out, reaches his hand across the pillar and knocks twice upon it before recoiling it back to his side. “What the-”

“What is it?” Ryan furrows his eyebrows in confusion, thoughts of leaving set aside, and inching closer towards the pillar. Shane gets up from the chair and stands behind Ryan, both attempting to stay away from being seen. The shorter man knocks idly on the pillar again.

This time, something peculiar happens. This time, it seems to be hollow instead of solid. Ryan glances behind his shoulder as if silently asking Shane for a logical explanation, but found that he was just as perplexed. The skeptic motions to the believer to try again. Curious, Ryan turns around and knocks on the marble again. Once more, it sounds hollow.

“The fuck is this is?” Shane whispers as both men stare in silent awe at the column of seemingly solid marble. Ryan’s head is reeling as it tries to scrounge for any logical explanation to the odd discovery.

Had it echoed before and he just hadn’t heard it? No, he’d been listening too carefully. Something has changed.

“Leroux wrote that there were hidden passageways built within the opera house,” Ryan says. He traces his hand along the smooth marble texture, trying to see if he could feel a hidden switch or put any pressure against the column wall in case he could push it open. “What I don’t understand is how this can be solid one second and then-“

Suddenly, Ryan pauses when one of his fingers glides on an irregular piece of unshaven marble, and immediately withdraws his hand at the sound of a groaning creak. Eyes widening, Shane takes Ryan’s arm and slightly pulls him away, something that surprises Ryan, but doesn’t voice out any complaint. Actually, he finds he doesn’t mind it at all.

A click, a hesitant pause until they watched the marble panel slide open. There is a whisper of a freezing cold breeze and a musky smell now emanating from the air coming from the pitch-black portal. From the looks of it, it appears the passageway has aged and hadn’t been used for many years. The entrance is lit by only the light of the box, but beyond the threshold lay nothing but ominous darkness. At any minute Ryan could imagine some hellish creature to emerge from the portal, and drag them into hell. A wave of cold dread and excitement washes over his body, the reality of their discovery and what it could mean sinking in as he stares ahead into the black abyss.

A hand comes down on his shoulder and Ryan flinches before telling himself to calm down, and that it is only Shane behind him. Shane leans in close, his mouth nearly touching Ryan’s ear.

“So, are we going in or what? This Phantom doesn’t seem like the meet-and-greet type to come out and show us around,” he whispers in the most mocking and condescending voice imaginable. Ryan wishes that is what he was focusing on or make some snide remark, or putting all of his attention on the endless pit instead of noticing how close Shane is beside him. The skeptic’s chest against his upper back, and how Shane’s stubble had tickled his ear, and wondering had it lingered for several more seconds. Or how the timbre of his stupid voice had sent an electric wave down the believer’s spine, and what the hell?! Is he seriously blushing?! He could not be blushing over how Shane was so close to him!

“Go on,” Shane says, but Ryan doesn’t hear. Ryan Bergara does not blush for Shane Madej. He’s so fixed on repeating the words over and over again like a mantra, he almost doesn’t notice the older man stepping aside and walking in front of him. Ryan raises his eyes as he tries to beat down the radiating heat from his cheeks.

“What are you doing?!” Ryan hisses.

“Since you’re not man enough to go through with it then I’m going first,” Shane says, and steps into the darkness. His entire frame fills the black threshold, and after a moment turns around to face his friend. “See? Nothing’s wrong. As above, so below.”

“That’s not even how you use that phrase,” Ryan rolls his eyes. “Can you quit being a jackass for a minute, so we can get out of here?”

“You’re scared.”

Ryan narrows his eyes at Shane’s shit-eating grin that is spreading wide across his face. His hands jammed into his jacket pockets, and he’s against the panel frame like some infuriating douche. His eyes are sparkling.

“I’m not,” he snaps. “We’ve been here long enough, and I want to find another way to go down the cellars that’s not illegal.”

“Nope,” Shane shakes his head, enunciating the last syllables in a way that will irk and press the shorter man’s buttons. “You wanted this, an opportunity at hand has literally opened, and I doubt it’s going to happen again,” he picks his weight off the frame and looks down at Ryan that shows off his height that he knows annoys his shorter friend to no end. “So, what do you say, Bergara? Let’s go catch a Phantom!”

Ryan is left conflicted- on one hand he wants to call the point of return and step through the threshold just to prove that his Phantom theory was real and shove it in Shane’s face; however, on the other hand it meant they will most likely get caught and be thrown out, or worse (if you were the believer’s paranoid brain), trapped underneath the theater with no way out.

Whatever Ryan had been getting ready to say is cut short when both jump, the two whipping their heads around to see the door handle jiggling and hear a girl cursing from the other side of the door.

“You locked the door?!”

“No! I swear I had left it unlocked before coming in!”

 _“Hé! Qu'est-ce que tu fais?!”_ a voice comes through from the hallway. _“vous n'êtes pas censé être ici! Interdite d’accès!”_

“I just wanted to deliver my letter to Erik!” The girl cries. It was one of those fangirls from downstairs! “I must find him! Why can’t I go in when those two guys are allowed?!”

“Shit!” Ryan pales, internal panic ready to be unleashed. _‘Go to Paris and look for the Phantom, I said. It’ll be fun, I said- except for the fact of fucking trespassing and possibly going to jail!’_ His brain goes into a short circuit, and after a moment of stupor, is ready to walk out that door and explain everything, but suddenly feels a large hand wrap around his wrist and pull him through the portal, his surroundings changing from red and bright golden lights to complete darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my readers enjoying this story, and I hope this is enough to satisfy until next time! This chapter was meant to be way longer than this, but I just got so tired of writing that I went ahead and cut it in half until the next update. Hope that was alright! As for notes, I don't really have much to say except that there are ways to travel down into the cellars of the opera house, and actually leads into other entrances and exits in Paris. This will be explored later on as the story progresses. The alleged rumor about Garnier allowing an architect to live underneath the theater after construction was completed was an actual rumor that Leroux heard while writing the novel. The rat bit is a reference to Dario Argento's Phantom of the Opera... it's a weird ass rendition if you want a phantom that's not disfigured and has a rat fetish: watch at own risk. As for the phan girls... this is just me poking fun at my younger middle school self when I first became obsessed with the story. I never thought the story was true, but I was one of those kids who said she would love the Phantom no matter what he looked like- those were some wild and cringeworthy times. Also, for anyone who hasn't read the book, Erik is the Phantom's real name and there will be more book elements featured.


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